


The Feathers and the Thread

by whirligigged



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, M/M, Team Gluttony
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-05
Updated: 2014-09-05
Packaged: 2018-02-16 05:30:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2257587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whirligigged/pseuds/whirligigged
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A white crane thrashed on the ground in a snare, throwing itself toward the sky and crashing down again and again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Feathers and the Thread

**Author's Note:**

> Written for summerpornathon 2012, the "Myth and Legend" challenge. I chose a Japanese folktale, [The Gratitude of the Crane](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tsuru_no_Ongaeshi).

The few pale fingers of sunlight reaching between the trees were dimming when he heard the cries.

A white crane thrashed on the ground in a snare, throwing itself toward the sky and crashing down again and again. It would soon break its own neck, the fool. Its cries grew squawking as he neared it. It beat its wings, frenzy-strong.

It was probably stupid to bother, he knew, even before he took a blinding blow to the jaw. He swore and dropped his wood, throwing his arms around its wings. "I could have you for stew tonight, you know!" he yelled. They grappled until it stilled, twisting its long neck back to give him a glare so humanly baleful he laughed. It pecked him in the arm. "Hush, you idiot, I'm trying to _help_."

The crane ruffled its feathers, keeping one beady eye on him. It did not move. He let go slowly, with one hand, moving down to loosen the snare and expecting his eye plucked out for his effort. "Easy," he said, and freed it. He stepped back. It lifted its leg with careful slowness—scraped raw, bent a little oddly. The crane opened its wings and, with a flurry of white feathers that kicked up the white snow around it, was gone.

Arthur gathered up the kindling that hadn't grown damp from the snow, jaw aching, fingers numb.

*

He nearly didn't hear the knocking over the screaming wind.

"Please," the stranger said.

He'd been nude, his long white body shuddering. He still shook now, even clothed and blanketed before Arthur's meager fire. He'd been robbed, clearly—could barely walk on his wounded leg, and his hands and feet were nearly blue from exposure.

Arthur gave the man hot soup. His fingers were half frozen and he held the spoon awkwardly, cursing and finally picking up the bowl to slurp from it. Arthur didn't comment, only slowly sipped at his own, and watched the stranger press his bowl to his lips, saw his cheeks and nose pinken by degrees, and tried to remember the last time he'd shared a meal with someone.

*

The first night, the stranger, Merlin, slept in Arthur's arms and leeched warmth from Arthur's broader and unbruised body. His chattering teeth kept Arthur up half the night.

*

Arthur spent most of the next day out, hunting. He was choosier than he normally was, letting some smaller deer go, and it took a while. He took his time cleaning the doe's carcass outside too, spattering the snow with blood. She was a big one, whose meat he could perhaps make last for the rest of the winter. Even feeding two, if that happened to prove necessary.

He wiped off his bloodied hands slowly, looking toward the cabin. It was nearly sunset, but he had a little more light left. Perhaps he should go gather a little more kindling. He hadn't managed to salvage much from the snow yesterday, dropping it all helping that damned crane. 

"Are you _ever_ coming back inside?" called Merlin from the door. He was shivering a little in Arthur's thin shirt. It gaped around Merlin's collarbones. It was too easy to track the long line of Merlin's white neck, exposed to the cold.

Arthur looked away awkwardly. "Get back in, you fool. You'll catch your death, _again_ ," he said instead. He wiped his palms on his trousers rather than glance up at the sound of Merlin's laugh, wincing when he remembered the blood on his hands, and followed Merlin back in.

*

He'd built this cabin himself. Arthur had always considered it plenty of space for one. It was even too big at times, too drafty. It had been foolish to build a cabin larger than a single room for just one person, with no reason to expect company.

Now, every time he or Merlin shifted, bumping into each other as they reached for tea or got up to stoke the fire, Arthur wondered why he'd made this cabin so bloody small.

Merlin grinned easily. Arthur kept his gaze from dropping down too often to that smile, so close in these confined quarters. His guest _touched_ so easily, too. Arthur felt little points of burning where Merlin had clasped his arm, just there, to tell him how grateful he was; where their fingertips had pressed together, here, as they passed some bread; where Merlin had brushed his nape, as he stood and asked if Arthur was ready for bed.

*

That second night, Merlin slept in Arthur's bed because Arthur didn't have another. He didn't often have guests. Arthur tried not to flinch, and feigned sleep, loath to give Merlin reason to be uneasy as his guest.

Merlin placed one hand, terribly, over Arthur's heart. "Thank you, Arthur," he whispered. "I owe you my life."

Arthur couldn't swallow, his throat was so dry. "You don't owe me anything, Merlin," he said. He turned over, Merlin's hand grazing his nipple as it fell away. He willed himself to sleep, to be unconscious to the shifting body beside him.

*

Merlin had breakfast ready in the morning. "I notice you have a loom, in the back," he said. Arthur's trousers hung loosely on Merlin's hips. He didn't wear a shirt.

"It was my mother's."

"I have some skill," Merlin said. "I'll be out of your hair before long, but I can earn my keep. If you do me a favor, and don't watch me. Just promise me that." It was an odd request, but easy to grant.

"Thank you," Merlin said when Arthur had neatened the small room and fixed the latch on the door, which before would never quite close. "The cloth will get a good price at the market. It might even go some way to repaying you?" Merlin curled his hand around Arthur's wrist. Arthur pulled it from his grasp.

"I haven't such fine skills. I assure you it would be more than adequate repayment for a few of my badly cooked meals."

"Well then." Merlin looked up at him through dark lashes. "Anything else—wouldn't be a matter of debt, would it?" He grinned.

*

The third night, Merlin shared Arthur's bed, but neither slept.

"Don't leave," Arthur gasped as Merlin licked his hip, licked up his cock, engulfed him in an all-consuming heat. "Please," he said.

*

"Promise me," Merlin finally whispered, rutting against Arthur's slick thighs, "Promise never to look, never to ask for my secrets, and I won't leave. I'll stay, please let me stay. Just promise."

"I promise, I won't, I'll never—"

*

The latch to the door of the back room has held on for some years, now. It must have finally broken again, Arthur notices, hearing the click and creak of the loom as he strides over to inspect. Unlatched, that door never did quite shut.


End file.
